Save Me
by MiaGhost
Summary: A collection of moments, not necessarily sequenced, in which the Legends save each other's skin. Miraith, probably with others to follow. Probable canon-divergence and variations.
1. Catch Me

~.~

The startled curse that tore from her lips as she finally lost her grip was caught sharp at the last second when fingers closed around her wrist. Her other hand grabbed blindly, smacking into the arm that had halted her fall into oblivion, grasping fiercely at a sleeve as her wild eyes sought the sky. Panic bubbled and spat in her gut.

Mirage's face looked down at her own.

His mouth hung open as he heaved in short breaths, the amber of his eyes darkened with the sun behind him. He looked shocked and exposed, like he'd forgotten his mask. It finally dawned on her what had just transpired, and something in Wraith's chest thumped _hard_.

She could smell the sunshine on the tarmac. She could still feel the heat of the bullet that had already blazed its path, a ricochet she flinched from on instinct. She could still feel her foot as it failed to find purchase on the rubble. She could still feel the way time had felt slowed as the air dragged her over. She tore a breath from the sky where she hung, digging her fingers further into his sleeve as she stared up at him.

In her mind she saw him, again, out of reach as she slid and lost her hold. He'd reached the edge in impossible time. She stared at him and forced air back into her lungs, and he stared right back at her.

For a stretched, disbelieving second, all either could do was look at the other.

The comm-line crackled in Wraith's ear, drowned out by the thundering rush of her own blood. Wraith realised belatedly that their third must have dealt with their opposition, for Mirage to be there; exposed on the end of one of the Airbase runways, his grip the only thing keeping her from hurtling to her death.

"Y-yeah," Mirage answered, strength returning to his voice as he did, "Yeah I got her, Path."

Wraith stared up at him as he blinked at her. She watched the slow return of his wide grin as he began pulling her back up onto the runway.

~.~

Wraith had replayed the moment a hundred times over, and it still left a deep chill in her gut, for there was no explanation for how he'd crossed that distance in time to catch her. It was an impossible move. She still felt it; the weightless inevitability, the snap of her fall cut short, the almost burning heat of his hand closed tight on her wrist. Impossibly close.

Yet it had happened, for she was here, alive, as proof.

The door opened shortly after her knock and all the plans she'd composed in her head just fell away.

"Wraith." he greeted her in surprise, his eyes wide and curious as she shifted uncomfortably in the doorway, "I, uh… What's up?"

She'd had words. She had, had practiced them on her way from one far end of the dorm halls to the other. But now that she was there, standing before him, knowing what he'd done that day… Her words failed her. Her eyes darted behind him, belatedly wondering if the room was empty.

She prayed she hadn't just interrupted his victory tradition and her uneasy gaze found his again, as though to ask.

He blinked at her, before his expression seemed to soften.

"Helluva day, huh?"

She dropped her head and looked away, feeling suddenly awkward, rubbing one hand gingerly against the opposite arm. She wasn't sure how to approach what she'd come to say. She opened her mouth, but ended up closing it again with a weak shrug.

Out with it, then.

"I… Wanted to thank you."

He seemed to still, and when he spoke again his words were hesitant and surprised.

"For what?"

She looked up, and she knew he knew. She saw it, there in his face, that emotion she'd seen on the runway. The strange new weakness in the shadows of his eyes. A potentially obvious indication that Mirage wasn't all that there was to the man in whose hands she'd entrusted her life all these months. Not to mention evidence that their time working together had inevitably brought them closer than either of them had intended.

She hadn't come to make friends. But she could hardly deny that she had recognised, while hanging above her own death, the fear in his eyes. She'd come to care for him too, as more than just the soldier beside her on the field. Losing him would have impact. It was strange and new, and admittedly frightening.

It had never occurred to Wraith that she was capable of making friends.

"That." he murmured with an awkward half-nod, "It was nothing."

That time he looked away, his lips lifting weakly in a ghost of a smile as though trying to convince himself.

"You saved my life." she answered quietly, and though he looked back at her she couldn't meet his eye again, aware of the weight of what she'd said.

"I do that more often than you'd think." he joked weakly, and Wraith brushed aside the instant surge of exasperation, for she could see now the truth underneath.

Wraith didn't have adequate words to answer him. They both knew this was different, from fighting together. Different from killing in a gunfight, different from battlefield first aid and his decoys and her portals. This had been a moment completely removed, a moment where she'd almost died from something trivial, something she had no chance of surviving. It had terrified her in a way she wasn't sure anything else ever had. That it was something she couldn't _fight_.

Elliot seemed to shrink in the silence as his shoulders fell, and eventually he gave a soft huff and stepped aside.

For a moment, Wraith hesitated. The unspoken invitation hung between them, prodding her pulse to pick up its pace. The very air fell hushed, waiting. The moment stood tall and prominent between them. A point of no return.

Wraith stepped inside.

~.~


	2. Breathe For Me

~.~

"Pathfinder!?" she yelled, plunging her hands into the river to grab at the figure there, almost dragged under herself by the weight of his suit as it soaked up water.

Wraith grit her teeth as the robot replied the affirmative, and tore open the air just in time to miss a shotgun blast that would have obliterated the last of her shields and most decidedly wounded her. She hauled her unconscious teammate with her as she fled, aware that she had to balance the distance she was putting between them and their opponents with the knowledge that he was running out of time.

When they dropped through her portal at the other end, she collapsed it. Pathfinder would have to find his own way, she couldn't risk the enemy arriving when she was busy. She dumped her rifle by her leg and turned Mirage flat on his back, planting her knees on either side of him as her fingers pushed aside the clasps of his gear, fumbling for the zip at his throat. Blood ran sluggishly from the wound on his head. She dragged away the straps and bands from the top of his holo-suit and splayed it open, checking his head was tipped back and immediately lacing her hands atop the thin cotton shirt over his heart.

Wraith pushed her weight into every beat as she began CPR, relying on her best guess of a steady rhythm when she couldn't rely on her own heart, galloping away like it was. She counted as best she could, pausing when she thought she was meant to and pressing her mouth over his to force air into his lungs, before returning to his chest.

"Come on, come on, come on." she chanted under her breath, every beat agonising as he lay there, not even breathing on his own.

Wraith didn't have time for panic, ignoring the screaming clamouring of Voices in her head, but panic was drenching her anyway, soaking up her legs with the river water from his suit, slithering up her spine. Her muscles ached but she kept at it, forcing them both to breathe.

"Come on, Elliot," she whispered against his lip as she gave him another breath, drawing back and starting the beat again.

Wraith's own heart was sinking, drowning. She could feel the burning in her shoulders and couldn't be sure of how long she'd been there, performing CPR on the only person she could possibly feel this panic for, this crippling terror that he wouldn't survive.

"Please," she chanted, unable to tear her eyes from his motionless face, "Breathe, Mirage, _breathe,_ please…"

Her eyes were beginning to burn too, her arms locking as the muscles cramped. Wraith kept going, kept counting, stopping only to make him breathe, and starting again, and again, and again, and-

She heard herself sob as his body convulsed, his head snapping to the side as he choked out mouthfuls of water. Wraith fell limp, kneeling at his waist with only her haunches and his hips holding her upright, only able to stare at him as her chest heaved. Mirage choked up what felt like an endless amount of water, before he drew a huge long breath and promptly threw up.

Wraith reached for his face as he jerked and retched, holding his head steady while he emptied his gut all over the floor beside him. When he collapsed back against the concrete and gasped, his eyes were dull gold and murky with confusion as he hacked and coughed his way back into awareness.

Wraith's palm stayed on his cool cheek, as her tears blurred her vision and her own breathing hitched and cracked. Mirage looked up at her with eyes full of things she hoped he wouldn't say, as she tried to convince herself that everything was okay again. That he was alive, and breathing. She barely pushed aside the need to clutch him close, to make sure his heart really beat again. He closed his eyes and relaxed against the ground when his breathing grew steadier.

"Shhhhit." he breathed.

A strange, pitching giggle escaped Wraith's throat, a sound she'd never heard herself make before. She cringed that she could hear the fear in it, her immobilising panic that she'd nearly lost him. Somehow Mirage found the strength to raise a watery smile, his eyelids lifting drowsily. Wraith's other hand still rested above his heart and she could feel it now, thrumming under her trembling fingers. Adrenaline and relief made her weak. Her arm gave up on her, slumping her down on Mirage's chest as she giggled strangely again, almost unable to stop herself.

Mirage gave a watery chuckle, and his fingers brushed her fringe from her eyes. His voice was low and gentle.

"Are you… _crying_?"

Wraith pulled away when his thumb brushed under her eye, suddenly realising where she was. She rolled off of him as her skin burned hot and uncomfortable, and she shook her head as she righted herself beside him.

All at once she felt a little more herself again, that calm determination waving at the shadows of her doubts.

"It's water." she cleared her throat and busied herself with retrieving supplies, "The river was pretty deep where you…"

She stared down at her hands as her words seemed to fade from her tongue and for a second she was confused about the syringe between her fingers before remembering they'd just been in a fight. Her head was a jumbled mess in the wake of all the screaming that had been going on and all she could see when she closed her eyes was Mirage's unconscious face, under the shimmer of the water.

"Hey." he sat up weakly and reached out to cover her hand with his own, and when her gaze flickered up questioningly, he smiled.

Wraith looked away, shifting uncomfortably, but his other hand brushed her cheek, pulling her softly but firmly towards him. Her stoic front wavered as he pulled her against his chest until suddenly the bubble swelling in her ribs burst, and she dug her fingers into the shirt at his back, pressing her face into the sodden fabric at his neck. The hug was awkward but crushing, like he was squeezing all the words he wasn't saying into her skin.

Wraith did her best to fight the tears. Mirage's face brushed against her hair. She could feel his chest rising and falling against her own as he breathed, and felt silly for how she'd fallen apart. When she pulled away she tried to apologise for her - incredibly embarrassing - behaviour, but Mirage pressed his lips to her forehead and the apology disappeared.

To stop herself from thinking she reached for his arm, pushed up the uncooperative weight of the water-logged material, and removed the cap from the syringe. He let her find a vein, waiting while she eased the plunger, his eyes on her even though she couldn't bear to meet his gaze.

"Thanks."

She nodded, pitching the syringe into one corner of the abandoned room as she reached for an antiseptic wipe, tearing open the packet and finally lifting her eyes. Keeping her gaze focused on the deep gash above his temple, she cleaned the area with efficient speed, peeling open butterfly stitches to press into the skin. Mirage sat patiently and let her work, seeming to know that she needed to do it, that she needed to use the jittery nervous energy she was left with.

When she pressed down the last corner of the bandage and sorted his fringe over it, his hand came up to take her wrist, keeping her touch there against his face. She could have pulled away, she could. But Wraith looked up at him and felt the ache in her chest as she thought of how close she'd been to losing him, and she didn't.

"Thanks." he said again, and she knew he didn't mean just the bandage.

She dropped her gaze and shrugged, her throat feeling tight when she swallowed. His hand found her cheek and his forehead lowered to press against hers. Wraith swallowed the hitch in her breath.

"We should get ready to move." she said despite the vulnerable wanting in her chest to stay right there like that, with him.

"You okay?" he answered, and Wraith's mouth smiled without her meaning to.

"Am _I_ okay?"

Mirage chuckled, and she smiled properly.

"Fair." he sighed, drawing back and ducking his head to make her meet his eye.

Wraith did, her heart thumping, and Mirage's mouth curved gently.

"But _are_ you?" he teased her, and Wraith shoved him out of her face as she groaned.

"Get your shit together." she returned, amused despite herself, "We're moving out."

Mirage's laugh was still kind of croaky, and she'd be keeping a close eye on him for the rest of the Game, but he was on his feet and sorting his suit and making flirty, teasing comments about her half-undressing him in front of the entire Frontier and how he couldn't believe he'd missed it, so she figured he was okay.

~.~


	3. The Shadow

~.~

Ah, great. This was it, this was how he was gonna die, to the goddamn ring of all things, because he couldn't secure his kill in time. Jeez. Cut off from Path and the new guy.

Mirage groaned, reloading his Hemlok as he ran, knowing there was probably no way he'd need it again but damn it if he was dying with an empty gun.

To the _ring_.

Crap. And in front of the new guy, too, jeez. That was just embarrassing.

Not that Mirage wanted to impress her, or anything. Pfft. Whatever. His reputation did that for him. But cummon, dying to the _ring_? In their first match together? That stung his pride. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and tried to pick up his pace. Maybe if he could get to-

A bullet whizzed past his shoulder, clinking against his shield and knocking his momentum a little. He stumbled, gaze darting for cover. Not ideal to stop, the ring was- Awh man this was it, he was going to die right here and-

Something hit his chest, and then again before he even had time to respond, and then the third knocked him off his feet. He scrabbled in the dirt as the shooter raced towards him, hearing the ring gaining. He tripped when he tried to find his feet again, his haste making his limbs uncoordinated, and his face burned.

This was just fucking _embarrassing_ now.

He drew his gun and slammed his back against the boulder but it was hardly worth it. Lost cause, at this point, he had no shields, no real cover, and the ring was less than a hundred feet away. The shooter rounded the corner and Mirage fired instantly, stealing himself precious seconds to try and move further-

The shot hit him in the back and he went down. Agony lanced up his back and he collapsed with a choked gasp, gritting his teeth as his eyes watered. He forced himself onto his butt, hand clutching the hole in his abdomen where the bullet had gone clean through. He spat the bile that raced up his throat, wincing at the blood.

Fuck.

The clicking of a new magazine sliding into a gun. He raised his head, meeting his bester's gaze. The woman smirked, drawing back the slide of her pistol, taking her time to level it.

"Are you just a bad shot, or are-"

The gun jerked in her hand as she stumbled.

Suddenly there was someone there behind her, a blur of dark clothing as a shotgun went off. His attacker turned but the shotgun fired twice more and she dropped back, reaching for another gun. In a strange, incomprehensible blur, his saviour threw a right hook, following it fast with a sharp kick and knocking the gunner's face with the heel of her hand.

It happened so fast if he'd blinked he'd have missed it, and Mirage stared with his mouth slack, for it was dawning on him dreadfully just who it was.

The Legend they whispered about. The fighter he'd heard so many stories about. The secretive woman who could disappear in the blink of an eye and materialise behind you to cut your throat. As the kill confirmation pinged on his banner, Mirage stared, floored, at the hostile new third they'd been assigned that morning.

She blew out a breath, her chest heaving just a little as she turned her head away from the fallen soldier, her impassive blue eyes finding him. He opened his mouth to say something, anything at all, to quench the irrational fear that she was going to kill him next.

She flexed her hands, a strange grimace passing over her face, before blinking owlishly at him.

"Are you just going to sit there?"

Mirage blinked at the sound of her voice; quiet, yet reminiscent of dark water, as though something dangerous lurked just below the surface. He fought a shiver, peeling back the palm pressed to his bleeding gut.

Speaking of bleeding, actually, he was starting to feel a little lightheaded. Though he wasn't sure if that was from bloodless or from the incomprehensible realisation that he had been teamed with the Apex Games' most frightening assassin.

"Here," she answered, her face unchanging even as he thought maybe her voice were a little… different, maybe.

Wow, his head was- yeah… yeah he was losing blood, and… He blinked, elbow wobbling as he leaned on it, nearly losing his balance as she knelt beside him.

"I don't have time to mend it here." she said after a brief inspection, "I'm going to have to move you. Ready?"

"Wh-wha- wait- What? No- I-"

"Come on," Wraith said, suddenly right in his space, ducking under his arm and lending him her weight as she hauled him to his feet, "the ring is right here."

Mirage tried his best to limp faster, aware he was giving her just the _worst_ first impression, and his gut spasmed in pain with every movement, but she said nothing more as she helped him further in, leaning him against the first building inside the new ring.

He dipped out of consciousness a little as she worked on his wound, hallucinating fragments of a conversation. (Or at least he _hoped_ he was hallucinating, because otherwise he said some stupid shit to her, the most badass third he and Pathfinder had ever been assigned.)

~.~

When Mirage came round, he was inside a building and the room was dark with nighttime streaming through the window. He pushed himself into a sitting position, nothing but an achy twinge tickling his gut was left of the wound the gunner had inflicted.

"You're awake!"

Pathfinder left the doorway he was leaning against, most likely keeping lookout, and made his way over.

"I collected some rations while you were unconscious. You need to replenish your energy."

A smile ghosted Mirage's face as he accepted the protein bar and canteen being offered to him.

"Thanks buddy."

The robot simply flashed a happy face on his screen and turned back to the doorway. Mirage glanced around, noting that their third was missing.

"Hey Path?"

"Yes?"

"Where's Wraith?"

"She is scouting." came the instant reply, "I did try to convince her to take some rest but she refused."

Mirage knew she could likely hear them over the comm-line, and though it was something he really shouldn't do in the Games, incase of a surprise attack, he cut the line. With a hand signal, he had Pathfinder do the same. A year of being squad meant he'd _finally_ taught him to do so before questioning why (thus not alerting the third Mirage didn't want to hear, for whatever reason).

"Do you now who she is?" he murmured, in case she were close enough to hear anyway, "Wraith, I mean?"

Pathfinder tipped his head to one side.

"I do not understand the question. She is Wraith, a Legend in the Apex Games."

"She's the Shadow."

The MRVN unit's screen flickered, drawing up data as he exclaimed softly.

"Oh. The fighter we have heard mentioned before."

"The one and only." Mirage breathed, his mind recalling stories of a skirmisher who'd won her first match with nothing but a Wingman and a killcount of eighteen.

The shadow who moved so quickly you couldn't see her. The fighter who once took out two fully-armoured teams solo, with a Blue shield and a Carbine. She was the stuff of legend in a _land_ of legends. It sent cold shivers down his spine to know he'd been saved by the Shadow.

Movement caught his eye at the other door as she pushed it open, slipping through and closing it tight behind her. She set her gun on the desk as she walked past it, reaching for an old chair and sinking into it. He watched her with his pulse a little high, feeling ridiculous and a little starstruck, humiliated by the fact that she'd had to save him from the ring.

"I don't answer to the Shadow." she said quietly, without looking at him, "My name is Wraith."

Mirage glanced at Pathfinder and swallowed, but her voice went on.

"I would appreciate it if you'd warn me the next time you plan on closing your comm-line. I thought someone might have ambushed you both."

Mirage flushed with shame, averting his eyes as he reached up to re-establish his connection. His tongue was far too heavy in his mouth to dare attempt an apology, so he stayed quiet. The air felt tense, and it was weird knowing he was in the same room as someone nobody knew anything about. She was a ghost, a phantom. All anyone knew was who she was on the field.

"How's your wound?"

It took Mirage a moment to realise she'd spoken to him, and he fumbled for words.

"Fabulous, it's- ah- great, really… really great."

He snapped his mouth shut to stem the groan in his throat, but her lips quirked a touch as she finally looked at him.

"Do you always race the ring?"

He frowned, opening his mouth but then he saw the faint touch of amusement on her face and it threw him a little.

"Oh, no." Pathfinder answered for him, completely missing the cue, "We are usually much better about securing safer ground inside."

Mirage rolled his eyes.

Wraith hummed.

"Lucky me, then." she answered softly, "Getting the opportunity to save your ass ten minutes in."

Without thinking, Mirage's mouth moved for him.

"It's a great ass, why wouldn't you?"

Internally face palming, he rushed to back his stupid mouth and follow through on the act, flashing her a wide grin and hoping she couldn't see how red his neck was. She only looked something between faintly disgusted and concerned he had a head wound, so it probably could have been worse.

~.~


	4. Stitches

~.~

Mirage raced across the bridge, heart thumping loud in his ears. The man lying babbling on the ground as he reached the building caught his eye, and without pause he squeezed his trigger twice to confirm the kill. He shouldered open the door, stepping in and sweeping the room, as a shotgun went off above his head.

He took the stairs two at a time, turning into the room with his gun drawn, and was greeting by a massacre. Four people lay motionless, blood flooding the tiles, while two lay slumped against opposing walls. Mirage's heart stopped.

He emptied what was left of his magazine into the last member of the enemy squad, not even hearing the confirming ping of his banner as he skated across the slick floor to drop at Wraith's side. Her eyelids flickered and weak hands reached up as though to push him away. Panic danced and kicked through his veins at her being so vulnerable.

He could hear his own catching breaths as he dumped his gun and his pack, bloody fingers yanking open zips to locate his first aid kits. Another weak brush against his chest, and he wrapped his own hand around hers to squeeze briefly.

"I'm here," he choked out, "Wraith? Wraith it's me. It's me, hey, hey, look at me."

Her eyelids fluttered again, slivers of ocean blue appearing to do just that. The colour was hazy. Mirage couldn't afford to stop, but a sudden immobilising terror struck him.

This couldn't be the last time he saw those eyes. It _couldn't._ He wouldn't let it. He still had- He still-

"I gotcha, I gotcha." he cleared his throat, tearing caps from syringes and slipping needles as gently under her skin as he could.

His fingers found the first wound, an ugly rend in her abdomen that oozed blood more than gushed, and he worried at the rate of her heartbeat. If it fell too low there would be little he could do to aid the painkillers and coagulants in their journey through her system.

He balked. She needed stitches, and bad.

"Path? I need cover, buddy, it's bad. I gotta stitch."

The robot confirmed the request, and if Elliot had been able to pay attention to anything other than the woman he loved bleeding to death, he'd have heard the sound of the robot taking up position on the roof.

"M'raage."

"Hey," he answered, breaking concentration for a second to brush his thumb along her pale face, "yeah, it's me. Hang in there, Wraith, I got this, okay?"

He blinked hard, and growled when he had to rub his inner elbow against his face. He didn't need this right now, tears would have to wait for later when-

Focus, Witt. She's going to die if you don't pull yourself together!

He pinched the ragged edges of the wound as he drew the needle swiftly through, working fast and being as neat as he could, snapping the thread with his teeth and knotting it clumsily but securely when he was done. He dropped both bloody spool and needle back into the medkit and uncapped another syringe.

Wraith groaned when he took her arm, but she was so weak it took almost nothing to keep her still to press the plunger. He gave her another for good measure as he switched to the second-nastiest bloodpatch, sweeping the skin with an antiseptic wipe to get a better view. A rifle round, he padded it and secured a bandage over it, before patching the worst one too.

Next he wound a bandage around the ricochet gash on her thigh, pulling the knot tight, and giving her another shot.

When he drew back again, he realised how badly his hands were shaking, and even though he shook his arms out hard to dissipate some of the pooling nervous energy, it didn't help. His heart had long since stopped separable beats and was instead just a constant vibration in his ribcage. He scrubbed the back of one hand over his eyes again and tried to swallow down the fear as he reached for her.

He shifted himself against the wall, pulling her into his arms and pressing his face into her neck as he held her tight to keep her warm. Massive quantities of blood coated the room, an unknown amount of it hers. He tried not to look at it, as though doubting would kill her. He pressed a hand between their chests, curling the fingers around both of hers. Her breath was an irregular flutter against his collarbone.

"Come on, Wraith." he sobbed, a cracked and broken sound, pressing his other hand further into the back of her shirt, "Come on, you can do this."

"…lliot."

He pressed a hard kiss into the bloody skin at her neck.

"I'm here."

Her fingers squeezed back. A strangled chuckle broke free of him, and he butted her ear with his forehead.

"I'm here, keep fighting. I'm right here, I gotcha."

Elliot sat there for what felt like weeks, clutching her close against his chest and praying that she came back. The only thing he could hear was her breath, afraid that it was only his own hope that made it sound stronger in his ears as he waited.

Wraith drew her knees up shakily, her feet sliding on the floor as she tried to curl up, a pained moaning at the aggravation to her wounds. Elliot lifted his head to keep her face close, watching her brow furrow as she cried out.

"It's okay, it's okay. Just wait it out with me, hey, the painkillers are working. Give em time, Wraith, I'm right here."

"Elliot." she slurred.

A watery laugh came from his throat.

"I'm here, I hear ya. I thought I'd lost you."

She slurred some more unintelligible words, but there was real body leaking into her voice again and Elliot's heart soared painfully.

She was going to be okay. She had to be. He knew she was, he knew it, he _had_ to know it.

Her fingers curled and flexed, wrapping around his again. He drew the mess of digits to his lips and kissed her knuckles, watching the weary lift of one eyelid as she gave him what he knew was a scolding glance.

He beamed, and his spirits rose again.

"Hey," Mirage grinned, waggling his eyebrows, giddy from fear and waning shock, "don't look at me like that. Women everywhere would _kill_ for me to kiss their hands."

She did her best to roll her eyes, and the shaky anxiety in his gut faded a little further.

"Taking advantage of me when I can't kick your ass?" she rasped, causing him to blush with chagrin as he chuckled.

At least they'd been friends for long enough for her to understand the moment of weakness. She'd give him a pass for his bold over-stepping of their boundary, because she knew that fear too.

"You can kick my butt for it later." he responded, too elated that she was opening her eyes to even feel the rejection.

"You'll end up with a reputation." she sighed tiredly, almost able to sound amused.

"I'm sorry."

He didn't look at all sorry, and he knew he didn't sound it, but it was the perfect cover for a moment of weakness. Eventually he _would_ have to tell her how his heart had come to regard her, how far in love with her he'd fallen, but that was a conversation he wasn't having on the battlefield, in front of cameras.

Wraith untangled their hands not long after, when her breathing was stronger and there was a little colour returning to her face. Mirage slid back behind the wheel, pushing Elliot to the back of his mind to make a temporary peace with all the fallout of what had been one of the scariest moments of his life, and he painted a grin across his face as he helped her sit up, as he helped her stand, as he helped her sort through the gear and supplies of the roomful of dead.

~.~


	5. Syringe

~.~

"I think we lost him." Mirage breathed, falling back around the doorway and turning his head to the side to look at her, "You good?"

Wraith looked up from the syringe in her hand, gaze ghosting over the steadily bleeding gash on his gun arm. Her abdomen twinged painfully. The meagre number of butterfly stitches she'd scrounged up should hold, so long as she didn't run much. Ha.

"Last one."

She held the cylinder up between them, motioning for him to take it when he didn't move. He eyed her, raising an eyebrow.

"No way. I saw that shot, Wraith. You need it."

"You need to be able to shoot." she hissed, clenching the hand over her wound and trying not to let it show in her face.

"And _you_ need to be able to move."

"I'll be fine."

He gave her his best unconvinced expression, eyebrows disappearing under the goggles on his forehead, and if it wasn't for the blood dried on his face she'd probably have smiled at the sight. Instead, she reached out to take the nearest of his hands, pressing the body of the syringe against his palm. He tried to jerk his hand back but Wraith held firm, glaring at him when he scowled.

"Take it," she commanded, "I'll find another one."

"You're crazy." he snapped, shaking his hands free of her hold.

Wraith felt the soft creep of a humourless smile on her lips.

"Maybe." she answered, leaving it where it had dropped between them, turning away and forcing herself to her feet. Her wound growled in protest, her legs wobbling.

God, she really was hurt. But she needed him in that battle with her, and his gunhand steady.

_You're in their sights!_

She spun as the door opened, pain blooming across her gut as she lifted her gun to fire.

"Wraith!"

She lost track of the situation as the shot knocked her to the ground, and despite trying her best to get back up, all she could do was clutch the triggered wound and hiss in pain as it snarled and scolded her. Fresh pain sizzled on her arm, but it was nothing in the waves of agony in her gut. She'd torn the few stitches for sure.

When the gunfire outside fell silent, she lifted her head to stare out the door, the emptiness around her suddenly large and foreboding. Her heart leapt when he didn't appear in the doorway right away.

"Elliot?"

The comm-line crackled.

"Take the stupid syringe." came his breathless reply, "I'll bring over what this guy has."

She fell back against the floor with a pained chuckle, turning her head to eye the discarded syringe lying where they'd been sitting not a minute before.

~.~


	6. Wanderer

~.~

When the gunfire started, Octane was rooting through a loot bin not too far away. His head shot up as the quiet defender on his squad called out.

"Enemy approaching! I am hit!"

He pocketed the arc star and pulled out a stimulant with a wide grin, already jogging back the way he'd come.

"On it!" he called back, whooping as the adrenaline rushed his veins and filled him with the rush he craved.

He levelled his Hemlok at the figure on the rooftop as he neared, taking out a good chunk of his shields out before he found the right cover. Already reloaded, he rushed the building with the intention of kicking down the door and racing up to the roof to finish the job.

"Aargh! I am down!"

Octane spun from the doorway to look across the open ground, gaze alighting on the girl cowering behind her purple knockdown shield as the enemy blasted at it with a peacekeeper. He dropped the grin.

"Ey! Ey _you_, compadre! Ey!"

He watched his gunfire explode across the soldier's body shield as she turned in surprise, and he followed her movement easily when she tried to dodge. When she hit the ground he tossed his new arcstar with a lazy flick of his wrist, and it caught on the lip of her knockdown shield as she drew it up.

By the time the confirmation pinged, he'd already taken hold of Wattson's shoulders and dragged her behind the closest wall. The guy he'd gotten by surprise on the rooftop was firing on their corner, but the angle just wasn't enough for him as Octane tore the cap from a fast-acting syringe and slid the needle under the defender's skin.

"Thank you." she groaned, the lilt on her words leaning a soft s, and Octane's grin fell back in place easily.

"I can't believe I'm standing still." he answered, to make her giggle, "Yo're lucky I like you."

When she got back on her feet she took a second to punch his forearm with little force, sticking out her tongue when he raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Zat is for wandering too far awey." she said, and Octane's manic laugh was all the answer he had as he raced away through the gunfire to rush the building.

~.~


	7. Momentum

~.~

"Ah, shit! Taking fire!"

Wattson peered around the doorway she had barricaded, making the last adjustments to the fence she'd put in place. It fizzed up as she did, obscuring her view of what was happening. Octane had left to loot the building just across the way, not even a far wander by his standards, and it sounded like he'd found the place occupied.

"Get back 'ere!" she answered, a worried frown slipping between her eyes as she turned for the stairs.

She'd have a better view from the rooftop, and she still had the open door there to fence, just in case. She pulled up her TripleTake as soon as she stepped into the open air, drawing the scope level with her eye as she looked towards the fight.

"Whole team!" came the holler, followed by the familiar clink of armour being hit.

Worry knotted in her stomach, and she debated dropping over the edge to aid him.

"Can you get back?" she called, "Should I-"

A figure burst from the doorway to the balcony, hurling himself over without stopping. Octane, still on his feet at least, haring back towards her in an impressive weave, dodging fire like lightning. Wattson couldn't help the smile on her face, even as she took aim at the doorway, hitting her mark the second something moved. The crackle-hum of the Precision Choke was sweet and exciting, a sound she rather liked.

She readied her finger on the trigger again, but something heavy hit her just below the heart and she almost lost her balance as she stumbled back. A sniper, on the rooftop. Smart. She returned the shot, but she couldn't stay there, if they hit her well enough again her shields would collapse. Octane's tread told her he was almost safe, even as he lost the last of his shields.

"Hurry up, Octavio!" she called, teasing in her words despite the situation.

She need not have said anything though, for with a wild laugh he soared right into view. Their shared grin faltered, though, as he took a shot in the back.

His name sprang to her tongue but her hand was faster, snaking out fast to catch him as the hit skewed his course, and when her hand connected with his shoulder she continued the momentum, spinning on her toes and dragging him with her, safely over the edge of the rooftop.

They tumbled together, sprawling hard on the asphalt.

"Stay down!" she yelped when he made to flip over, pressing a hand to his shoulder and turning towards the low wall that edged the building roof.

She laughed, lying beside him, flush with relief as she studied the angles.

"Sey cannot see us because of the wall!" she giggled, turning her head to the side to see him as her hands worked to work a shield cell from her pack, "Looks like you will 'ave to take thees one lying down!"

Octane's answering laugh was pained and unimpressed as he drew out his own medkit, but he was in better spirits once they'd crawled inside, Wattson barricading the door and drawing up a fence as he healed himself best he could.

He was quiet, for a change, as she took the wipes and cleaned the nasty wound on his back, but when she was finished and he dragged his shirt back on, he caught her eye in his and gave her something small, a smile untouched by his crazy wildness, and Wattson could only bite her lip and pretend her heart wasn't tripped up by it.

~.~


	8. Talisman

~.~

The ground shook with the barrage as Bangalore hissed and curled herself tighter against the meagre cover of the tunnel wall. Her artillery continued to rock the earth, pebbles and sheets of silt dropping on her like open bags of flour. With the ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times, she drew her breaths slowly with her chin tucked down, to minimise the inhalation of the dust cloud encasing her. There was yelling outside, and it wouldn't be long until they realised where she'd managed to limp off to in their scarpering for cover from her attack.

She and Bloodhound were separated thin, the tracker having slipped away to reach the beacon down the incline while Bangalore stayed to hold off the tail they'd picked up in their last fight. The high clanging of the Respawn Beacon rung out, and she let loose a shallow breath of relief. Their Medic would be back in action in moments, and right about now the soldier could do with seeing that perpetually sunny grin when her friend returned.

Her head dropped back against the dirt wall as her lungs ached. The dust was settling for the most part, but her bigger worry was going to be the rate that she was losing blood. Her last syringe had done nothing but take the edge off, and they'd been chased from Lifeline's abandoned loot before they could grab much more than the lucky gold barrel she'd gotten from a care package. A stupid move, really, only made possible by her years of training and the familiar weight of Lifeline's favourite rifle in her hands, but she'd clicked it straight apart and snatched it before Octane was on them and Bloodhound's clear voice had warned her of their approach.

It was sooner than she expected, that footsteps echoed down the tunnel and she raised her gun drowsily, loathing the way her limbs felt weak as though she hadn't eaten. Her head was clearer than it used to be, when she'd first experienced bloodloss. She was an old hand at the sensation now, but it didn't mean she liked it any better.

"She came down here."

Shoot. She checked her safety, lifted the gun and locked her arm back against the wall. Trying to stand would be a rookie mistake. She had the jump. Her fingertip kissed the trigger, and she took an even breath.

The Tango barely stepped into view before the sniper rang out, and he juddered to the floor with a wet yelp, stilling in seconds. Bangalore levelled her gun his way just in case, but he was dead. The second set of feet scuffed, and she was sure enough that they were alone that she lurched to prop herself upon the boulder beside her in a clumsy crouch, eyes finding the speedster and her gun barking. He went down between the two of them, and the PDA clipped around her upper arm pinged. The team was down.

She lifted her head to look out of the tunnel mouth where the light was bright and crisp and adjusting to it took a second. On the low ridge, almost just a blob to a bad eye, Bloodhound lay along the grass, stock of a LongBow against their cheek. And there, rounding the mouth of the tunnel from the side, their ray of sunshine.

Definitely bloodloss.

Bangalore slid heavily down from the uncomfortable perch, letting the Medic haul her upright and prop her against the dirt wall, her familiar touch hot and swift as she drew out the IV tube to her D.O.C. and slid the needle into the soft flesh of Bangalore's inner elbow.

"Ya had me worried." Lifeline scolded, her frown belying the half-smile on her mouth as she worked, and Bangalore couldn't help the chuckle as she aggravated her wounds to reach into the pouch at her hip, to flick the gold piece between them.

Lifeline caught it easily, her snort amused and her eyes rolling, but the tiny piece of superstition glittered behind her eyes regardless. Everybody had their _things_. Didn't matter what they were, sometimes they were all that kept a soldier centred in a shitshow. Lifeline's were few, the most prominent being the drumsticks she carried with her every game like a talisman tucked into her combats. But every game there was that _one thing_. The Barrel Choke they found right when they needed the extra edge and hadn't seen one all day, the poor quality rifle stock that had a chip in it that looked vaguely like a triangle.

This match, her care package had gifted them a shiny gold barrel not moments after the Medic had spat about the GameMakers forgetting to drop any barrel stabilisers on the whole damn map. A temporary talisman was no match for skill and training and fast reflexes, but it helped in its own way. Lifeline took apart her new gun with practiced ease, clicking it right into place with a satisfied hum.

Bangalore didn't have much in the way of lucky items. Luck was all fine and well, but she couldn't rely on luck in the Ring. But, though she scoffed at herself when she thought it, there was one talisman that brought her good fortune in the battle-scarred Arena more often than naught. And her name was Ajay.

~.~


	9. Sister

~.~

She did her best not to choke on the blood, spitting it to the side with a grimace. Hands were working at her chest, each probing throb of pain sending the taste of copper and salt up across her tongue again. Gritting her teeth didn't help, which pissed her off because it was her habit. But with her nose bloodied and probably broken, drawing any kind of breath that way was a challenge she'd fail.

Bangalore's world was pretty hazy, only the pulses of rolling pain bursting periodically bright behind her eyes. Lifeline was talking, snapping and muttering really, while she worked, her fingers like spiders as she applied pressure and drew a needle through and kept adjusting the tubing from the D.O.C. If not for that piece of tech, Bangalore could hardly argue she'd be as alert as she currently was. Field meds could only do so much, and the higher the quality and dosage of the painkiller, the foggier the brain. Days like this, she was grateful that Lifeline had befriended her so determinedly those three years ago, for she'd relied on her more times than she could count. With a field kit in this state, she'd put money on temporary unconsciousness.

"If she doesn' make it," Liefeline's clipped voice was snarling, "I'll see ta it personally you don' get another listin' wi' Elites."

The sequence of events was a blurred smear in her head as she gasped out another mouthful of blood at the next hard beat of agony.

Something about an ambush. One their mid-tier third should have seen, one that almost put them out. She'd reacted, instinct and years of training making her response times among the best in the Games, but he'd scarpered on her and she'd gone down among the fire of three weapons. The rest was more sensation and sound than anything else, she was fairly sure she'd gotten her flare out in time for it to count, but whether the artillery had fallen or not, Bangalore couldn't rightly remember. With her brain fogged as badly as it was, other battles were bleeding through, and it was difficult to focus on filtering out what was now and what was then.

He was saying something, his voice high and nasal and laced with panic, or self-defence. It whined in Bangalore's ears too badly for her to hear the words. But she got the intent. Some excuse, some argument. After three years of Lifeline's touch patching her up in the worst of the scenarios they'd faced together, she could recognise the way her fingers roughened. She was forcing her focus to curb her anger. But it still spilled out anyway.

"Get yor ass ou' on watch. If we get jumped again now we'll be in real trouble."

"But-"

"For God's sake!" Lifeline yelled, louder than either of them had been before, her accent doubling in the way that exclaimed her very real anger, "Get th' fuck _out_ there!"

He went. Bangalore heard the scrape of something being hauled from the ground. She didn't know how long Lifeline continued to work before the fog started clearing little by little. Breathing became a little easier, the pressure in her ribs releasing slowly. Cracked, probably. The pain cranked up a notch or two, but the ache in her head mellowed enough for her to force open her eyes.

Lifeline's clothing was coated in blood and there was a rusty streak across one cheek like battlefield blush, but when she noticed Bangalore's gaze she dredged up a wry smile.

"Ya had me goin'." she said, uncapping another small syringe and slipping it under the skin so neatly that it barely even pinched, "I swear I'll kill tha' moron before the others do."

Bangalore groaned, because the dark chuckle creeping yup her windpipe would hurt too much to release, but Lifeline knew anyway. So much time together and with a bond like theirs, you learned a person inside out.

"Rookie." she managed to spit out, pushing shakily up onto her elbows even though it hurt.

Lifeline snorted in disgust, eying the direction their third must have gone, her hands a reassuring support for Bangalore to lean on as she struggled cautiously upright.

"How many?" she asked, glancing down at the mess of her abdomen, the black thread neat against the blanching skin.

"Thirty-four." was the answer, clinical almost, despite the concern in her friend's eyes.

Bangalore nodded and set about adjusting her battle suit over the wound. Lifeline laughed then, a real laugh, before she produced more thread from the box and set about sewing closed the tear the Peacekeeper had made near her hip. Bangalore let her, too exhausted and in too much pain to argue that she could patch it herself.

When she was satisfied, Lifeline packed the medkit up in mere seconds, clicking it closed and slotting it back into her pack. She took a deep swig from her canteen before passing it to the soldier, who took a mouthful of cool water to clear the taste from her mouth. It foamed pink and thick on the concrete when she spat it out, but she felt better as every second ticked on.

"Thanks."

Lifeline took it back with a brief, genuine smile, and maybe it was the near-death adrenaline talking, but Bangalore wondered not for the first time if having a sister would feel anything like the comfort the other woman could bring her on the battlefield with barely any words. Her brothers had dragged her up with them through the years, and she was used to the rough and tumble. Hell, she could tangle with the best of them and come out swinging, and she knew it. They'd been fundamental in making her who she was and she appreciated them for it. But there was something about Ajay's gentle strength in a crisis that made Bangalore wonder all the same.

She'd take a bullet for the Medic, had done on more than one occasion, and had the gesture reciprocated just as many. They were all like family, the Elites. A dysfunctional one, who fought and killed each other in the Arena, and not everyone got along as well as others did. Bangalore knew she wasn't a particularly affectionate person, and she wasn't the only one. They found balance, they made it work. She'd gladly take Octane down in the Games for the motormouth he infuriated her with, but he was alright in his own way, she supposed.

But Ajay had pushed her way past the barriers Anita had crafted around herself, refusing to be ignored, doggedly giving her support and wry disposition in moments of near-weakness. As partners on the field they were dangerous together, and it hadn't taken very long for that bond to be secure between them. She'd hardly faced a match without the woman since, the sister beside her in a firefight like her brothers would be if they were there.

But of course, that was the adrenaline talking. It'd soon be time to move out.

~.~


End file.
